The Road That's Taken
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: Crowley Meratyn, Ranger Pritchard's first apprentice. A series of one shots focusing on Crowley's life.
1. Chapter 1

A smile touched Pritchard's lips as he approached a certain house in the village. Slowing Willow from her energetic trot to a more gentle jog, the Ranger flicked his eyes from inside his cowl toward the cottage. It was simple, though the small bed of flowers and carefully carved bench in front gave it a certain attractiveness.

While the cabin was charming, that wasn't the reason why Pritchard enjoyed riding past it. It was the ginger haired, hazel eyed boy who would routinely peek out the thin wooden door or through the clumsily put together picket fence in front. The boy, who couldn't be older then fourteen, always had a rather awed smile as he watched the Ranger pass. Pritchard, for his part, always had a smile and a wave ready, making the boy's grin widen as he shyly waved back. Pritchard was well aware of the distance Rangers had to keep from the usual village people, but he believed that kindness and respect toward the people went further than intimidation.

As Willow jogged directly in front of the cottage, Pritchard frowned. Usually, the boy would have spotted him already and been waiting at the door, but the door was closed and the shutters were drawn. Perhaps they were running an errand. Something in Pritchard's gut said otherwise, however. Quietly, he slid from Willow's back and stalked toward the door, unsheathing his saxe as he went. Stopping at the doorway, the Ranger paused.

"You're drunk!" Came a woman's voice, defiant but slightly breathless from pain and fear.

"Doesn't matter," Came the deep, slurred reply. "You're too stupid and ugly to tell the difference, Jina... All you're good for is doing laundry..."

A new voice cut in. "Don't talk to her like that! She's done more then you ever have! Just, leave us alone!" Pritchard placed the voice as the boy's, and his grasp on his saxe tightened.

"Crowley, don't." The woman, Jina, said tightly. "I'll handle this, just go wait outside."

"Ma, not this time. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of him hitting us!"

Floorboards creaked as someone turned. "That's what you think, boy?" Fury colored the words. "I'm gonna kill you for that... You're a worthless son anyway." A sound as the heavy figure lunged, then a choked cry of pain.

It was as this happened that Pritchard shoved the door open, saxe at the ready. The Ranger had been filled with rage towards the man as he had listened to the conversation. Very little made him more upset then a man not taking care of, _intentionally_ _harming_ ,his family. Family, the very people he should be willing to protect with his life.

Jina, her face marked with a deep bruise, was screaming. "No! Jans, stop! Crowley!" The man had the boy pushed up against the wall, his hands locked over his throat, as the boy gasped desperately for the air that wasn't reaching his lungs.

It only took Pritchard several seconds to slam the hilt of his saxe knife into the man's temple. Drunk and distracted as he was, Jans hadn't put up any resistance and simple crumbled to the ground like a felled tree. Crowley slid to the ground, wheezing and gulping at air as he brought his hands up to hold his throat. Finger shaped bruises were already visible.

"Crowley! Oh, love, are you alright?" The mother cried out as she rushed toward her son, tears streaming down her face as she smothered her boy with kisses. "Thank you for saving my son," she said breathlessly as she raised her gratitude filled eyes toward Pritchard.

The Ranger had already applied thumb cuffs to Jans and moved to gently kneel by the pair. "He shouldn't have hit you," Pritchard said seriously. Jina's sleeves were rolled up for housework, and the Ranger now understood why she normally kept them long as he caught sight of old bruise marks on her arms. Pritchard was willing to bet that that was the same reason why he had never seen Crowley in short sleeves. "He's not going to come anywhere near you again."

Jina dropped her eyes, but she didn't argue. Instead, she simply replied, her voice a broken whisper. "He just gets _so_ angry."

Jans was beginning to stir, and it's didn't escape Pritchard's notice the way both Jina and Crowley flinched, Crowley fisting his hand in his mother's skirt and shifting so that she was slightly behind him. Pritchard got up and none too gently nudged Jans' ribs with his boot until the man's bleary eyes met his.

"Can you hear me?" He said coldly. The man hesitantly nodded. "Good. Because while I'll make sure that you are never allowed back to this fief, first, I want you to hear something straight from me." Nodding toward Jina and Crowley, the Ranger continued, "If I ever catch sight of you anywhere near these two again, you'll answer to me, and that is something that you really won't want to happen. Understand?"

Jans gulped and slowly nodded. Pritchard hauled him up, unsympathetic as he swayed and let out a groan. As he made his way through the door, Crowley's voice made him pause.

"Thank you, sir." Crowley's voice was hoarse and scratchy, but he sounded relieved and... _hopeful_.

"See you later, Crowley," Pritchard said simply, his mouth tilting upward.

* * *

Jans grumbled as they shuffled up the road, seeming to have already forgotten Pritchard's threats - with how drunk the man was, having forgotten them could be a real possibility, the Ranger reflected.

"Idiot boy. If he had just stayed quiet like I told him to, none of this would have happened."

Pritchard roughly slapped the man on the head. "You don't deserve your son," he snapped.

Jans, his head stinging from the slap, stayed quiet, giving Pritchard time to consider his own thoughts. He had acted on instinct and in the heat of the moment when he had entered the house and subdued and threatened the man. He realized now, with his firsthand threats and already somewhat attachment to Crowley, that he may have unconsciously gotten himself involved on a more personal level that he had originally thought.

Yes, Pritchard reckoned that he would be seeing more of the ginger haired boy.

The thought didn't bother him at all.

* * *

 **Fearing for a Ranger is still coming, I promise.**

 **My plan is to turn this into a series of one shots (not really any plot, just individual stories as I think of them) focusing on Crowley and Pritchard, Crowley's earliest years as a graduated Ranger, and even some missing scenes of the Early Years books.**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	2. Chapter 2

**Throwing this tiny little one shot into this story because, hey, it has Crowley in it.**

* * *

Crowley crinkled his nose and winced. Oh, the agony... the slightest brush, the slightest movement, sent spikes of pain through his hot, tight face. This was the worst form of torture. He was dying, there was no way he would be able to put up with this much longer...

"Somehow, you don't even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt," Halt sighed from where he was stirring his pot of rabbit stew.

Crowley gave a low, rolling grumble. "It _hurts_."

Halt gave him a withered, sideways glare. "You're fine. It's just a sunburn."

"Says you!" The ginger replied miserably. "It's hot, and tight, and painful... And, and it's peeling!" He finished with a furious gesture to his cheek, which was indeed peeling rather impressively. "It's not fair. I don't understand why you didn't burn too!"

"It's one of the perks of not being a fair-faced ginger," Halt replied with a smirk, bringing the spoon up to taste his work.

Crowley brushed the statement away with a wave of his hand. "Fine. You just give off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at, instead."

The dark haired Ranger rolled his eyes. "Someone's cranky."

Crowley sniffed dramatically. "I'm just saying, showing a little sympathy wouldn't kill you, Halt."

A beat passed before Halt replied, totally dead-pan, "Fine. I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties of your life."

Crowley groaned and moved a hand to smack his forehead before he thought better of the movement. "Never mind, never mind, just stop! You are the WORST at this comfort thing, you know that?"

Halt shrugged. "I had a suspicion." Several moments of silence passed before Halt spoke again, his tone losing the previous snark it had been exhibiting. "Like I said, it's just a sunburn. I get that it hurts, but it's not like it's going to feel this way forever."

Crowley gave his friend a half smile. "I know. But for now, can you just enable my misery for a while? At least until the peeling stops." Crowley shuddered. "It's disgusting."

"If you insist..."

"Is that stew ready yet?" Crowley asked, perking up slightly at both his friend's acceding and the thought of food.

"Just about." Halt suddenly stopped, a look of horror passing over his face. "Your face is peeling. Oh, gross. Don't get anywhere near this pot."

Several minutes later, Halt told himself that the smug remarks that came with dishing up Crowley's stew and serving it to him were worth keeping him on the other side of the camp fire.

* * *

 **Super short, super plotless. It's been a while since I've spent time with Halt and Crowley, so this happened. Hope it might have made you smile!**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


End file.
